


sometimes your first scars don't ever fade away

by Lire_Casander



Series: make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes Appreciation Week 2019) [4]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Week 2019, Heavy Angst, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-28 11:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: now i'm alive, and my ghosts are gone, i've shed all the pain, i've been holding on the cure for a heart





	1. before this crash i'm dying in

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary taken from _The End Where I Begin_ by The Script. It belongs to the _**make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes' Appreciation Week 2019)**_ series, whose title also belongs to a song by The Script, _Live Like We're Dying_.
> 
> A story told in a non-linnear set-up.
> 
> Anything you recognize is not mine, although any and every mistake is my own.
> 
> You can blame [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans) for this chaptered insanity, and [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) for being a supporter for craziness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _so hard to let it go when it's there under my skin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and summary taken from _Anybody There_ by The Script. It belongs to the _**make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes' Appreciation Week 2019)**_ series, whose title also belongs to a song by The Script, _Live Like We're Dying_.
> 
> This is written for the [Alex Manes' Appreciation Week](https://rawandmessyandbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/184555967345/ive-created-this-appreciation-week-in-response) over at tumblr, _**Day 4: Alien shenanigans**_
> 
> Anything you recognize is not mine, although any and every mistake is my own.
> 
> A loud shout out to [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) for the support and hand holding, and [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans) for convincing me to expand this even if at first I wasn't even sure about posting it.

When Alex comes back to consciousness, it’s to a pounding headache and a secluded, dark space. He forces a swallow down his throat and takes in his surroundings, as small and terrifying as they are. He doesn’t remember clearly how he’s gotten into this, just as he can’t recall where he really is.

His head feels like exploding when he tries to turn it to his right. He can’t focus his gaze, and there’s a thunder gathering in the pit of his stomach. His trembling hands reach out in a feeble attempt to open the door of the cell he’s currently in, but he’s too far from the exit and he’s too tired to walk over there. He stumbles a couple of steps and falls down hard on his knees, his right leg aching even before he hits the ground.

He sighs, too tired to try crawling to the door. He _knows_ he should be trying to escape the cell, but he can’t focus and it’s getting hard for him to remember why he was inside in the first place.

“Alex!” he hears from outside, the glass pane dampening the noise. “He’s over here, Valenti! In this cell! Alex, please hold on, I’m getting to you!”

That’s Michael, he knows, and yet he doesn’t really recognize the voice. He leans towards the sounds coaxing him to look up. “‘chael?” he slurs. Why is Michael in this place? Alex tries to wade through the fog covering his mind, but everything is blurred and painful.

“That’s it, Alex, try getting up,” Michael is commanding, an edge to his voice Alex hasn’t heard in a long time. “Try getting near the door. I can’t help you out if you’re that far.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t,” he manages to grit out. “Too tired.”

“Can’t you just break the glass and take him out?” Kyle is saying, and Alex suddenly remembers he’s come along for this trip as well. 

“Remember what happened back in Caulfield?” Michael spits, hand crashing against the glass. “I’m not risking it here. I _need_ him out, but I won’t blow up the entire place.”

“Guerin,” Kyle warns. Alex frowns; he feels he’s missing something, but he can’t put a finger on what it is. “The cell isn’t that big. If _she_ gets a hold of him-”

“Don’t you think I already know?” And Michael is barking now, eyes squinting as fingers draw patterns on the glass. “Maybe I can try something.”

As Alex looks up, something snaps in the back of his head. It hurts, but he finds himself mesmerized by the sight of Michael lifting a hand and placing it gently on the glassy surface, fingers beginning to glow red. “‘tiful.”

“Just hold on, okay?” Michael asks, voice cracking. “And keep looking up, Alex. Just look at me, okay? Can you hear me?”

Alex tries to nod, he really _wants_ to, but his head is too heavy all of a sudden and there’s a hush at his back, a whisper that draws him in. Against the part of himself that desires to remain seated watching as Michael burns up, Alex turns.

The sight is gorgeous.

There’s a woman standing tall in the middle of the cell, dressed in a beautiful sundress. She is smiling at him, young and carefree, blonde hair and blue eyes. Alex smiles back, lips curling up as she steps closer to him. 

_Come to me_ , she talks to him with her mind, and he wants to tell Michael that maybe they can try communicating with their thoughts given that they suck at words otherwise, but he remembers that they are not going to be talking any time soon.

Michael’s kissed Maria, and it’s destroyed Alex. And yet Alex has invited Michael to this adventure seeking another secret prison where aliens are being dissected and eviscerated for science research, according to Project Shepherd’s standards. He has to be as dumb as he feels.

 _I can soothe your hurting_ , the woman is saying in Alex’s head, and he wants to believe her. _Come to me, and I will erase your strife forever._

Who would have thought there would be an alien who could free humans from their nightmares with just a caress?

Alex leans into her as she stretches her hand and touches his cheek.

“Alex!” Michael sounds desperate, but Alex doesn’t care anymore. He’s going to stop hurting, he’s going to forget.

Her fingers brush his forehead, but instead of bliss and forgiveness he feels a sharp edge cutting through him, a knife splitting his soul open with so much pain that he wants to scream. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out of his throat. His head hits the nearest wall when he falls forward, skin breaking as a thin thread of blood escapes from his temple.

He doesn’t have the energy to claw his way up straight, so he remains in that awkward position, half his body against the wall, face glued to it by drying blood, and the other half sprawled on the soil. His prosthetic digs against his stump, and he knows he’s going to be sore tomorrow.

With a startled thought he realizes there might not be a tomorrow for him, if the speed at which his consciousness fades is anything to go by.

“Michael,” he groans, arms bracing him against the wall. “Please,” and he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. He just wants the pain to stop.

The woman has vanished when he looks around, replaced by an elderly figure who’s watching down at him with what looks like pity and guilt. 

“Fuck it,” he hears at his back. He can’t turn his head around, but he swears he can _feel_ Michael trying to reach for him with his mind. “Flint knew where he was throwing Alex into. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

“Focus,” Kyle replies sternly. “We couldn’t know-”

“What, Valenti?” Alex flinches at the snarl in Michael’s voice. “There was an alien who could cause fucking brain cancer, Flint knew this one could kill with her hands. I’m killing him. I swear, Valenti, once we get Alex out. I’m _obliterating_ this hole.”

“For now, _focus_.”

Alex wants to say something, tell Michael to stop trying to save him because he deserves this pain, he’s hurt Michael time and again, and he hasn’t been able to stand the pain of being left behind. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t come back from this prison.

“‘chael,” he tries, mouth dry. He needs water. “No.” He can’t form any word, he feels as if sandpaper has replaced his throat. He attempts to force himself away from the wall, to no avail.

He collapses.

“Alex!”

Sounds come muffled now, and he can’t make out most of the words he knows are being spoken, _get him out!_ is distress in Kyle’s voice, _not strong enough_ in Michael’s drawl. He wants to retaliate, to tell them he’ll be alright, he just needs to sit down for a bit and rest his eyes, and then _don’t you dare closing your eyes, Manes!_ comes from Kyle, _Alex, please, look at me, look at me, dammit!_ is what he hears from Michael. He wants to sleep, maybe he can take a short nap before getting up from his spot on the floor. He just needs to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him that if he shuts his eyes, there might be a chance he’d find it hard to open them again. 

A sigh, and the world gets switched off. 

He allows darkness to engulf him, drowning the screaming that is now closer and closer, until he doesn’t hear anything.

He still _feels_ , though, he senses a hand touching him, slender fingers grasping his wrists and pulling. He wants to complain when the movement forces him upwards on his prosthetic, but he doesn’t find his voice. Somehow his body makes it through the glass – but it's not a glass anymore, it feels like liquid washing over him, and then he's on the other side, supported by the weight of Michael's arms around his waist and Kyle's chest where he’s so ungraciously landed. "Can you walk?" Michael asks. 

Everything aches, and Alex shakes his head slowly. It's still pounding but the feeling of being stuck to the ground is slowly fading. "He can't," Kyle translates, helping him to stand still. "We have to move, you can-" 

"I'll take him," Michael decides, hauling Alex and lifting his weight with his left hand, mended but not forgotten. Alex feels lightweight, his feet barely grazing the floor as Michael over exerts himself to get them out. 

The doors begin to open before them, closing in their wake as Kyle keeps looking back for any sign that they're being followed. 

"Told you I turned the cameras off," Alex hears Michael explain tiredly. "Keep moving, Valenti. We need out."

As they match towards the open air, Alex starts feeling the clouds in his head dissolving – he gets flashes of running into Flint while trying to find a way to free the aliens kept in this prison in the middle of nowhere, red lights above his head and pain so searing it curses him with a spell of fire and brokenness. There's an image of his brother punching him and he remembers lashing out, and then darkness. 

He'd rather step through a bonfire than go back into a cell with an alien that can kill with a gentle touch. 

They reach the Humvee in time for Michael to drop him, Alex thudding bonelessly against the vehicle. He’s still holding his stomach with shivering hands; his head has cleared but the effect of that hand on his skin is spreading fast. He dry heaves while Kyle tries to check his vitals. 

"Guerin," Kyle calls. Alex realizes that the moment he's been dropped him by the car, Michael has turned around and is currently raising havoc with his mind. Alex has yet to find out how on this earth or any other Michael has been able to bend matter to his will so Alex could trespass glass as if it was water. "Guerin!" Kyle repeats, urgence in his words as he stills besides Alex, no longer touching him. "We need to go _now_."

Something in that sentence makes Michael twirl, eyeing Alex carefully as the building behind him collapses in a heap of wires and fire and blood, regardless of who is taken down in its fall – alien, human or monster. Whatever he's about to say dies before even being born. "He’s not making it to Roswell."

"We don't have Max," Kyle states simply. Alex wants to counteract, remind them both that he's been in far worse situations, he’s been to _war_ even, but he gags and splutters bile. That earns him a worried look from Michael and Kyle. His mind is shutting off rapidly, and he knows the darkness is coming back to him. 

This time there's no glass for Michael to save him. 

He doesn’t feel the hand on his abdomen, the heat colliding with the spots that are breaking him from the inside, the life spreading through his limbs like a rose blooming from within. He doesn’t see the tears that wet his skin, the lips that seek his collarbone, the knees that give out under the stress. 

In this obscurity there is just numbness and peace, and a voice carrying through the windless space, calling out his name. He finds the beacon he needs as silver lining, and slowly comes back to where he belongs. 

It's only when he's sagging against a trembling Michael, exhausted by the effort of bringing him back, that Alex realizes he hasn't called him _Guerin_ a single time. He gasps for air and clutches Michael's arm, clinging to it as he would to a lifeguard in the middle of the ocean. 

He’s alive. And he has Michael, who's collapsing by his side, taking him into his arms as Kyle urges them to collect themselves and get in the car, but they're having none of it. Michael drops a wobbly kiss on his forehead, and Alex knows they'll be fine. 

As long as they're together.


	2. sail back in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i won the battle but i lost the war_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and summary taken from _If You See Kay_ by The Script. It belongs to the _**make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes' Appreciation Week 2019)**_ series, whose title also belongs to a song by The Script, _Live Like We're Dying_.
> 
> This is written for the [Alex Manes' Appreciation Week](https://rawandmessyandbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/184555967345/ive-created-this-appreciation-week-in-response) over at tumblr, _**Day 5: Canon, canon divergence, what-ifs, fix-its**_. 
> 
> Anything you recognize is not mine, although any and every mistake is my own.
> 
> This wouldn't have been posted without these wonderful ladies [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) and [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans); they took this mess and turned it into some coherent and beautiful. I'd be lost without you, my girls!

He’s been sitting in that chair for hours now, his stump digging hard into his prosthetic as a promise of the pain to come when he stands up and tries to walk a few steps to his car. He’s been pushing back the dread in his gut as he sees the sun reach its peak, glaring at him from a spot way up high in the cloudless sky.

At first he thinks Michael might be in danger, the way he left in the middle of the night, looking as though he’s been stabbed and then run over. Alex didn’t buy his lies about the blood not being Michael’s – he’s been to war too many times not to recognize a battle wound when he sees one. He tries not to wince at the memory of his own rushed words, intended to be a declaration of love and coming out crippled and frustrated, a confession of the sins he’s been committing throughout his life.

When it’s evident that Michael has stood him up, Alex has still to wrap his head around that idea. Objectively, he knows Michael’s not coming anytime soon, that he's probably found himself a better place to be rather than here to talk to him – Alex _knows_ that he has always been a step behind in everything he does, so getting ready for whatever cosmically imperfect relationship they might have together while Michael decides to take a step back isn’t a surprise. 

What’s new is the fact that Michael isn’t even there to explain to Alex what’s going on. Not that he deserves any explanation, anyway. But still. Michael has always been there for him. Every time Alex has come back from war, or when he stumbled upon his lips at the reunion. Sometime in between evicting him from Foster Homestead Ranch and learning that he can't live without Michael. Michael’s been willing to be there every damned time, even when Alex hasn’t been ready for _them_. He’s fucked up so many times he’s already lost count, but he’s haunted by his most recent failures: that _moment_ they shared over a sixer sitting on the back of a beaten truck, or when Alex asked too much of him by dragging Michael to a prison to watch his worst fears come to life. 

It’s killing him to know that he might have scared Michael away for good this time.

He closes his eyes against the light bathing him, giving up on checking the time again on his watch. He loses track of the minutes he spends with his head rolled back, breathing evenly to keep his anxiety in check, until his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“‘Lo?” he answers, voice thick and throat parched. “Kyle?”

“I need you to come to the bunker, _now_.” The urgency in his voice makes Alex sit up straighter, numbness replaced by alertness and a feeling he can’t shake – something’s terribly wrong in the nervous way Kyle speaks.

“I’m on my way,” he replies curtly. “Will be there in fifteen.” He hangs up without waiting for Kyle’s answer, and he places his hands on the arms of the chair, bracing his body for a motion he knows his leg isn’t ready to perform.

The sound of an engine roaring and tires scratching the gravel catches him mid-movement, and he stills when the old truck he so well knows comes to a halt in front of the Airstream. He sighs in relief when he sees Michael in one piece, jumping out of the vehicle in the nonchalant way Alex loves so much.

It hits him fair and square, how much he’s in love with the man who’s staring at him with a wild look in his eyes. “Alex,” Michael says slowly. “I had forgotten you would be here.”

There’s something oddly appealing in the way he rubs the back of his neck, Alex notices. He can’t shake the dread pooling in his gut at Michael’s words, though. “You told me to come here today so we’d talk.”

“Yeah, now I remember,” Michael nods. “It’s been a hell of a night, really.”

Alex takes a step towards him, caught in Michael’s gravity, before he can even stop himself. It’s always been like this – a magnetic pull he can’t resist. He keeps forgetting his words whenever he is near Michael, and he wants to be able to say his name in the reverent way he deserves, but his breath catches at the sight of perfectly healed fingers in the left hand that’s currently finding its way to Michael’s side. 

“Your hand,” he points out.

“Max healed it,” Michael shrugs. Alex wants to touch it so badly he can’t help himself and finally takes that step closer to Michael, drinking in his silhouette against the blazing sun. He keeps swaying towards Michael, until he’s just an inch away, shaking with the relief he finds in Michael just _being_ there, when he notices another small detail he would have ignored had he not been so close.

There’s lipstick smeared across the side of his neck, the spot that he’s been rubbing so insistently when he’s got out of the car. That effectively makes Alex recoil as if he’s been punched.

Michael blinks at him, and then his hand goes up again to the spot, as though he knows exactly what’s on display there. Alex pales a little but says nothing, waiting – now it’s his turn to wait, it seems – until Michael decides to speak.

And how he wishes he hadn’t.

“I’d forgotten you were here,” he starts. “It’s been a tough night. Noah’s gone. Max is gone too. And-”

“Wait. What do you mean, Max is _gone_?”

Michael shoots him a pained glare and Alex shuts up. The perfectly fine left hand cramps and twitches under Alex’s prying gaze, but he says nothing of it, and Michael doesn’t offer any other explanation. He just keeps on. “I went to the Pony,” he confesses, small voice and unsure eyes. “I wanted to play music, and I didn’t think. I was-I couldn’t-because everything was coming down, and just thinking about Max, and Isobel, and Noah, and _you_. It just _fucking_ hurts. So I stopped thinking.”

“You went to _her_ ,” and if it comes out as an accusation Alex doesn’t care; he even takes pride in the way Michael flinches at his words. “You forgot about _me_.”

“Alex,” Michael tries, reaching out to him, but Alex simply takes a step back, and then another, until they’re once again separated by oceans of sand. Alex feels like he’s drowning in Michael’s hazel eyes and his own paralyzing fear.

He can’t breathe.

“I was too late,” Alex whispers on the brink of crying, tears welling up in his eyes, the sting of salt almost unbearable. “I’ve always been too late.”

“Alex, wait.”

But he doesn’t stay. If his leg had allowed him to, he’d have run away, but he has to settle for an almost undignified retreat to his car, head down and heart crushed, while he hears Michael call his name. He never moves.

It’s the last time he walks away; it’s the first time he’s sure Michael won’t try to stop him.

The drive back to the bunker is filled with silence and pain, whirling around his head like the dust lifted on his wake when he pushed the pedal to the ground and all but fled the only soul who’s always felt like home. 

When he arrives, the armor he’s built for himself throughout the years is back in place, a shield against the blows life has always thrown his way. Alex is back to the corner he should have never left – the place where feelings are blamed and punished – and the mask of Captain Manes is back on. No tears, no flinching, no backing out.

This half life is now his war.

“You said fifteen,” Kyle greets him sourly as Alex limps his way into the bunker.

“Something came up last minute, I had to take care of it,” he says trying to downplay the issue, but Kyle is having none of it.

“That something named Guerin?”

“Long story.” He won’t let his feelings get in the way of becoming the automat experience has taught him to be. “You seemed worried before, what’s going on? Is there something else in the tapes that we need to watch?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of things on those tapes,” Kyle turns around as he speaks, Alex trailing behind him, and it only takes him three steps to see what Kyle wanted him to see. “But we have a more pressing matter on our hands for the time being.”

Alex’s eyes widen almost comically, his brows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. Sprawled on the floor, unconscious and awkward, is his father. His arms are spread above his head, as if he’s been dragged to this particular spot, and his knees are bent in what looks like an uncomfortable angle. When Alex looks back at Kyle he can see the burns in his fingertips as the doctor lifts them to cover his mouth, and the wince that follows the short steps he’s taking towards the figure lying unceremoniously half on top of the stairs, half on the floor of Project Shepherd’s secret bunker. Alex becomes painfully aware that whatever battle his friend and his father have fought, it’s ended badly for both of them – Jesse Manes on the filthy soil of an unknown bunker, Kyle Valenti on his feet with the burden of being guilty of surviving.

“What happened here?” he asks, feeling bile rising in his throat. “Is he-is he-”

“He’s slowly drifting in a medically induced coma,” Kyle explains, as collected and calm as he can be due the circumstances. “No dead yet.”

“Might as well be,” Alex says after a heartbeat, his eyes never leaving the body in front of him, not able to discern whether the chest is heaving or not. “What happened, Kyle?” he repeats, voice softer.

Kyle rubs the back of his neck before gathering enough courage to speak up. “I thought I was losing my mind, thinking _he_ was following me around because he wasn’t even here! You said he was in _Niger_! He couldn’t be in Roswell trying to drive me crazy, but he was,wasn’t he? So I went to this store to buy a gun and-”

“Wait, you bought a gun?” Alex interrupts, unable to stop himself. “I thought you swore to do no harm.”

“I bought a vest instead,” Kyle offers, hands gesturing vaguely to his whole frame, and Alex can see the hole in the shirt where a bullet has shred it. “Turns out, Jesse was actually following me, you know? He followed me here and tried to kill me. He fucking _shot_ me, for fuck’s sake! But-but I was wearing the vest and then I-I hit him with this barbiturates cocktail and then he just-”

“Breathe,” Alex commands, a hand landing on Kyle’s forearm, steading him where he’s just started pacing. “Just in and out, slowly, you’re about to have a panic attack. We cannot afford you going down now, okay? Just breathe with me.” He grips Kyle’s arm while his other hand shoots up to Kyle’s chest, right above his heart. Alex can feel the quick beating, and for a brief moment he wonders if Kyle’s on something, because this is _so_ not Kyle’s usual behaviour.

When he feels Kyle beginning to calm down, Alex lets go of him. “Better,” he says, ever so softly, as if to not disturb Jesse who’s still on the floor with his eyes closed and his body slowly stiffening. “So you hit him hard, didn’t you?”

“If I don’t get him to a hospital soon, it’ll all be over,” Kyle whispers back. He’s shivering, and Alex wishes his former best friend wouldn’t have had to go through this – but he feels that Jesse Manes was brought to life to just mess with everyone who gets close to him. “He’s going to need life support in a couple of hours.”

“This is not something _you_ should be doing,” Alex states. His mind wraps around a thought he’s entertained enough times to have formed an opinion about it – all the what ifs, all the dreams of a brighter future with no burdens from the past – before he speaks again. Another heartbeat and then, “He’s not going anywhere.”

“What?” Kyle seems to forget they’re talking in whispers, because he all but screeches. “You can’t be suggesting-”

“I’m not actually suggesting anything.”

“No,” Kyle shakes his head. “This is not going to be on me, and it’s so not going to be on _you_. You wouldn’t survive letting your father die, Alex.”

“I think I’d do pretty well, thank you,” Alex says stubbornly. 

“I wouldn’t,” Kyle retorts. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Manes, but this? It’s not you. So you can either help me move him to a hospital or not, but I’m doing it anyway.”

“And what would be your cover story, _Valenti_? Oh, hey, see, I put him under a dose of barbiturates so he wouldn’t kill me and now I’m worried that I’ve actually been the one to end him?” He can feel the snarl and something that’s close to breaking inside of him, but he’s not stopping. “He tried to kill you, Kyle!”

“And I swore to do no harm,” Kyle repeats his words from before, and Alex feels his hatred for his father burst like a punctured balloon. “If we get him to the hospital and on life support, he’ll be under our control, okay? I can monitor him, make sure he doesn’t wake up any time soon, and then when the time’s right we can-you can-”

“His next of kin can decide to take him off life support if there’s no prospect of him improving,” Alex nods. “I’m not his next of kin, and he’s military. I’m sure my brothers would want him transferred to a military hospital.”

“Are you telling me you’re a codebreaker who hacked his way into Chinese and Russian intelligence, and you can’t become his next of kin _and_ keep your brothers in the dark?” Kyle questions. Again, Alex wonders how he can switch from being desperate enough to create a killing mix of drugs to being the responsible doctor who’s plotting to take down an impossible enemy.

He nods once, curtly, eyes never leaving his father. He can do whatever he wants with his father’s medical records – he could even have him erased from existence with just a click – and Kyle’s right. He’s been to war, he’s been the evil, but he doesn't have to be that anymore. He can be better.

He can be the human being he once was before a hammer happened to his life.

They move Jesse together, and if the man bumps into a couple of steps and hits his head against the door frame of Kyle’s SUV, neither of them say anything. The ride to the hospital is silent, neither of them wants to acknowledge the fact that they’ve plotted to let Jesse die slowly surrounded by beeping machines, on his own and completely alone. 

After everything’s said and done, and Kyle has pulled some strings so no one asks more questions than they are ready to answer yet, and Alex has half heartedly told the nurses he’d be back in the morning, they head back to the SUV. They don’t speak to each other for a while, but they don’t hop in immediately.

“You know I don’t care if he never wakes up again,” Alex whispers, mostly to himself. “I’ll be here and visit and play the nice son who wants his father to come back, and I’ll hit the right buttons to make sure I have the final decision in all of this, but-”

“I shouldn’t have put you through this.” Kyle’s hand reaches out but he seems to think better of it, for the fingers still in mid air. 

“I would have never had the nerve to do it on my own,” Alex confesses. “So I’m glad this happened, that he tried to kill you and you drugged him up, because it’s like he’s made that decision for all of us.”

“I’m going to take that for what it is,” Kyle all but snickers. “Because you kinda said you’re glad your father tried to kill me?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Alex frowns.

“I know, but I still like teasing you.”

With a final playful shove, Alex walks around the car and gets into it, waiting for Kyle to start the engine and take them away from the hospital and the promise of a future without Jesse Manes.

They get to sleep a couple of hours – Kyle insists on the couch, leaving the cot to Alex because of his prosthetic that has been on for far longer than what is due – and when Alex cracks one eye open he can see Kyle already sitting at the computer, a video playing on the screen.

“What’s that?” he cracks out.

“This looks like another place,” Kyle points out. As Alex approaches him, ready to _not_ talk about the big pink elephant in the room, he realizes that the images show another kind of prison, not so different from Caulfield. “They hold aliens in here too.”

Alex catches his breath when he watches his father on screen, surveilling the cells and barking orders although they can’t know what he’s saying because the tapes don’t have recorded sound. “We need to find it.”

“And do what? Save the aliens one prison at a time?” Kyle spins around in the chair. “We can’t go breaking into prisons and setting them all free, Alex. They’re feral, they could go rogue, and we’re not the heroes they’re looking for.”

“No, we aren’t,” Alex muses, the thought nagging at him from the back of his mind growing stronger, bolder. “But _he_ is.” There’s no point in denying that their fates were sealed from the moment they both locked eyes over a guitar and a shared moment. He has to get over his own feelings, because feelings are going to be his downfall, and right now he can’t afford to be taken down before his time.

Kyle groans, and that’s when Alex knows he’s hit a sore spot. “The telekinetic _douche_?” Kyle rubs a hand over his face. “We could try and talk poster boy Max Evans into this," he suggests.

"Max Evans is dead," Alex deadpans. Kyle blinks and recoils as if hit by lighting. 

"What do you mean, dead? What happened?" Alex wants to bark that _dead_ means _not breathing_ , but he doesn’t want to be harsh on Kyle because they’ve both been through too much already – there’s no point in picking up a petty fight over semantics when they’ve found out another experimentation site where aliens are being dissected.

"Guerin didn't say," Alex sighs. "I guess it has something to do with Noah. I wouldn't know. But he isn’t here anymore and if that’s so, then Isobel might not be of any help. Not that I think I’ve ever talked to her, but anyway. I don't even know if Guerin told them about Caulfield, about-" he trails off, shaking his head in defeat.

"His family," Kyle supplies. When Alex looks at him surprised and bewildered, he just shrugs. "Sister, mother?" he shrugs again, shoulders shaking slightly. "I'm not blind, and it was either that or his wife, and seeing how he looks at you every fucking time I don't think she was his lover." Alex huffs out a pained sigh but doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t trust himself to speak when feelings are flooding his throat and tightening his chest, making it difficult for him to even breathe. "You sure you good to talk to Guerin? You didn’t look like _that_ before.”

“He’s with Maria now,” Alex states simply, as if the words don’t sting and make him heart shatter into a million pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put back together. “I better get used to it.”

To his credit, Kyle remains silent for a moment before offering, “I can call him. I’d kill to see his face when he hears _me_ explaining that there’s another Caulfield all over again. So, you go find out where this place is, and I’ll go kick Guerin in the balls,” he coughs to cover a laugh. “I mean-”

“Go,” Alex dismisses him with a hand wave, eyes trained to the screen as he begins to take mental notes. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s facing. He’s not afraid of running into a battlefield, but he’s terrified of what he feels whenever Guerin is around – of how he shrinks when Guerin doesn’t look at him, and how mighty he becomes when those eyes are boring holes into his soul.

Yet he knows he has to face him sometime, so it better be sooner than later – better be the same day he’s had his heart handed back to him stabbed and stepped over, rather than allowing him time to mourn and cry and despair.

He doesn’t speak to Guerin when he reaches the bunker. He doesn’t explain, and surely Guerin doesn’t ask, because they’ve find it more suitable to just squint at the sun than actually let themselves be burnt by its intensity.

He just spews orders right and left, trying not to focus on Guerin’s eyes or on his lips, on the softness that his wild curls offer when Alex dares to thread his fingers through the untamed hair. And he most definitely doesn’t pay attention to the freshly healed left hand that Guerin keeps unconsciously clenching and unclenching as a sign of distress and nervousness.

If Kyle notices – and Alex is sure he _notices_ – he doesn’t say a thing. Instead, Kyle throws himself into a lengthy explanation of what they’ve found, about how they’re going to dismantle Project Shepherd one prison at a time. He keeps going on, almost rambling when neither Alex nor Michael interrupts him. 

Alex just wants this to be over. Objectively he knows that having an alien with a pickpocketing mind is their advantage while assaulting this new prison, but he wishes he didn’t have the image of those lips kissing Maria, whispering sweet nothings during long nights in the desert. He wishes he didn’t know about the weight of those fingers intertwined with his, or about the heat that lights up those hazel eyes until all Alex can see is blaze burning up a bonfire.

Kyle offers to drive, and he accepts, sinking in the passenger seat with his eyes averted from the inside of the vehicle. He doesn’t look back once, and he doesn’t even say a word as they make their way through the silent hallways that hold so many resemblance to Caulfield that Alex fears they’re going to encounter Guerin’s mother again. This time, they decide to part ways and explore on their own, each of them searching for certain information – Kyle is looking for medical reports and tests run over the years, Guerin is carefully making his way through the security system to open the gates without blasting the whole facility, and Alex is in charge of hacking into their data and snatch as much information as he can during the short time window they have been granted upon breaking into and discovering the whole place was plagued with security cameras.

When he hears the door behind him open, he knows he’s been busted. Alex doesn’t move an inch, lifting his hands over his head before slowly standing up. He is ready to kick the chair out of his way to fight whoever is walking up to him. The click of a gun being cocked makes him wince ever so slightly, because he doesn’t want to show weakness with a gun pointed at him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice snarls, a copycat of his father. Alex turns around, and the last thing he sees is his brother Flint’s fist, leaving him cold-cocked and out in seconds.


	3. keep running and running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there's no light to guide me on my way home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and summary taken from _Rusty Halo_ by The Script. It belongs to the _**make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes' Appreciation Week 2019)**_ series, whose title also belongs to a song by The Script, _Live Like We're Dying_.
> 
> This is written for the [Alex Manes' Appreciation Week](https://rawandmessyandbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/184555967345/ive-created-this-appreciation-week-in-response) over at tumblr, _**Day 7: Future!fic**_. I know I'm late, sorry for that.
> 
> Anything you recognize is not mine, although any and every mistake is my own.
> 
> Big thanks to [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) for her clever suggestions and her help, and [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans) for being the best cheerleader and supporter in the whole world.

Months fly by before Alex can wrap his head around the idea of finally letting go. He’s got too much to think about. His father being dosed up and kept in a medically induced coma at Roswell Community Medical Center. Flint being officially missing after the prison exploded, triggered by an alien’s overexerted telekinesis. Kyle, his former best friend turned his bully turned his brother in arms slowly walking down a spiral of insanity only to resurface like the phoenix he’s always been. Liz, mourning the loss of her other half while learning to accept that she’s won her older sister back after a decade of being dead. And Maria, his partner in crime – his _sister_ – and the love of his life happily sauntering around town, hand in hand, showing off the blessings of a socially accepted relationship. 

His heart being shattered and handed back to him stabbed and bloodied.

He hasn’t stepped out of the cabin for weeks. He orders his groceries online and has them delivered to the front porch, and he counts on Kyle coming to drag him out of his hidden spot on a weekly basis to bring the packages inside. He’s become a master in calculating when Kyle will show up, timing the delivery slots exclusively around that.

“I’m so not doing this the next time, Manes,” he hears Kyle yelling as he enters the cabin with his own key, the rustle of paper bags a telltale of a domestic bliss Alex is not ready to have yet. Not with Kyle, not with anyone, really, even if it’s just a friendly reminder that someone cares about him. “You know you have to get out of this hole sometime.” He listens as Kyle drops the bags over the counters and pops through the basement’s dormer.

“I do get out,” he retaliates from his spot on what used to be Rosa’s bed, surrounded by wires and screens and computers. The first week after the disaster that Caulfield and the second prison had been, he’d moved everything from the bunker to the basement below the cabin. He couldn’t risk anyone else stepping into Project Shepherd’s secret location, and with his plans for dismantling the whole operation under his father’s sleeping nose he didn’t want any other Manes man coming in guns blazing. He’s done a good job out of keeping his two remaining brothers in the dark, and although he knows he has to tell them sometime that Flint’s missing – most probably dead under tons of bricks, drowned in blood and guilt – and their father is slowly fading away, he just can’t find the right moment to pick up the phone and make those calls.

If his previous experience has taught him anything, it is not to trust that a Manes man’s doing what he’s ever supposed to do – or even staying where he’s supposed to be. So he doesn’t call, trying to glue the scattered pieces of his soul on his own while his whole world is crumbling down one death at a time. His father is slowly fading away; Kyle thinks his brain stopped receiving oxygen on the way from the bunker to the hospital, and now he’s on life support with no hopes of him ever waking up or being functional – with no need for them to drug him up with barbiturates either.

“Getting upstairs for an occasional shower doesn’t count as _getting out_ ,” Kyle reminds him as he flops down besides him on the bed. “It’s been months, Alex. You’ve been holed up in here through Christmas, through Easter, through the whole spring. It’s been almost six months. You know this isn’t healthy.”

“I never claimed it was,” Alex counters with a small sigh. “I can’t-be out there, I mean. I _died_ , Kyle.”

His friend eyes him with a brief pitying look that’s quickly replaced by determination. “Liz died as well. And Rosa. And if Rosa can make it work out there, you can too. You were barely dead for seconds.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Alex whispers, staring at his calloused hands. He’s been working so hard tearing apart everything his father had built up for legacy that he’s earned himself a few more cuts and bruises in his fingers. “I died and _he_ brought me back. And afterwards, he just left again. I don’t know how he managed to-when I-I’ve always left him behind, and for once I was able to tell him how I felt and he just. Left.”

“There are so many things you’d know if only you’d get into town from time to time,” Kyle shakes his head. “Or, y’know, if you’d let me fill you in about what’s going on.”

“Oh, I know what’s going on,” Alex assures him, eyes focused on a vacant spot on the wall. He doesn’t really pay attention to Kyle’s scoff nor to the hand reaching out to his shoulder in a brotherly grasp. Alex barely registers the soft touch, mind focusing on all the things he has yet to work through.

He knows that Flint’s about to be declared dead. He knows, because he’s been tweaking both his records and those of the second prison – the place where he almost died _again_ – to make sure that his brother remains buried in the desert, in the unmarked grave he deserves. He knows his father won’t survive if they unplug him, and he’s been working hard to get rid of all the clearance needed for him to become Jesse Manes’ next of kin both military and civilian, because he wants to be the one to watch him rot for all the sins he’s committed. He knows his older brothers will find out about what’s happened with Flint and with their father, so he’s arming himself for the fight that will ensue once they come back to Roswell asking for an explanation Alex is not ready to give them.

He’s going to take his father off life support in a few days, and he’s still not sure if he will be able to do so without breaking down.

“-about to find a way to bring Max back,” Kyle is saying when Alex comes back into the room. He shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear it off. “Liz thinks they already have the key to it.”

“I’m about to become a murderer,” Alex blurts, interrupting him, not really paying attention to what Kyle is saying. “I’ll be a conscious murderer. I’m killing my father, I’m leaving him to choke to death.”

“Alex,” Kyle whispers, tightening his grip on Alex’s shoulder. “You know you don’t have to do it. He’ll be gone one way or another, but you don’t have to be the one pushing the button.”

“It _has_ to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t, and you know it. You’ve known it all along.” Kyle bites back a sad laugh. “It was me who caused the brain ischemia. It's _all_ on me who lied in the report. It’s all on me. You shouldn’t take the blame for that.”

“I want him dead,” Alex confesses, eyes widening. “I’ve wanted him dead ever since he took my future away with that hammer.”

“That's something that can-" Kyle gets interrupted again, this time by an alarm blaring off in his pocket, and the lights flickering above them for a moment before completely blacking out. The emergency lights signal the cabin's generator starting to function. Kyle takes out his pager and stares at it for a second. "I have to go," he says. "You should come too."

"Why?" Alex asks, refusing to move. He kind of likes the darkness that's engulfed them both. 

"Because there's been a power outage, as you can see," Kyle says as though talking to a child. "The hospital's on a generator but it won't last long." When Alex doesn’t seem to understand, Kyle shakes him. "The power at the hospital is going to shut down. All the machines. Including all life support."

That makes Alex move, brain whirring with thoughts threatening to suffocate him. As his leg protests under the weight he's not longer used to bearing, he realizes that only one kind of action could have caused a blackout wide enough to reach the cabin in the outskirts of Roswell. It's Kyle who voices it. 

"They're trying. To bring him back."

Alex isn’t sure that Isobel and Michael – he ignores the knife digging and twisting inside of his chest at the mere thought of his name – have enough power to cause so much damage and still get to revive Max, but maybe Kyle is right and he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does, because when they arrive at the hospital after a wild ride in Kyle's SUV, they’re confronted with an unusual sight in the alleyway where Kyle parks. 

Michael and Isobel are pale and trembling, backs against the wall, while Liz checks on them with expert hands. Alex gets a glimpse of Rosa as she leans into a beaten car parked near, tugging at an arm clad in a long sleeved shirt. He squints his eyes and he can see that it belongs to Max Evans; his heart stops beating when Max stumbles out of the car, eyes wide open and completely disoriented. But what breaks him more than the sight of Michael panting, dry heaving and looking lost in a sea too wide to wade, is the person that’s helping Rosa to push Max out of the car.

Maria jumps into the street gracefully, catching Max as he seems to falter.

Kyle rushes towards them, helping the girls to keep Max upright and quickly diving into doctor mode as he checks his vitals with a visual scan. Alex shakes his head and blinks, hoping for the scene to dissolve, but it’s as real as it can get, and he’s left as the outsider. He doesn’t have a place among his friends – among his _family_ – and his spot has been replaced by a shallow shadow of what used to be. He watches as Maria lets go of Max to approach Michael and wipe the sweat from his brow. He wasn’t aware his heart could break all over again.

Slowly, as though he’s walking on ice, Alex brings himself to walk towards the hospital entrance on his own.

The hospital wings are a mess when he finally sets foot inside. Nurses and doctors are running around, checking on patients. Nobody pays attention to him as he approaches his father’s room, where Jesse Manes lies asleep on his own without receiving any more visits than the ones from his doctor – not even Alex has dared to go out of his comfort zone to pay a visit to the dying body of his childhood abuser. He feels he’s been right all along: he is in fact the evil haunting every good memory stored in his mind.

He stops dead in his tracks at the sight inside the room, and he should have been used to being surprised by now, but he still flinches.

Luke and Robert are standing at each side of his father’s bed, staring intently down as the beeping sounds of the machines are slowly fading away. Neither of them lifts their heads when Alex finds his courage to walk into the room with as much dignity as his crutch and his endless sleepless nights allow him.

“He’s dying,” Luke speaks first, eyes never leaving their father’s face. “You knew it, Alexander.” His voice is accusing, low and rough. Robert lifts his gaze to hold Alex’s steadily. “You knew he was dying, and you never said a thing.”

“You were unreachable,” Alex defends himself feebly. He didn’t expect to meet his oldest brothers in their dying father’s hospital room, and he hasn’t prepared himself for confrontation.

“And Flint?” Robert sounds collected but Alex knows better – he remembers the moments when he thought he was safe in his brother’s watch only to be betrayed by a beating fist and a spiteful speech that hurt more than the punches ever could. “Where’s Flint, Alexander?”

He shrinks into himself, clutching the crutch tighter until his knuckles become whiter than paper. “Flint’s MIA.” He hates how his voices comes out in a tiny thread of a whisper. “No one knows where he is. Unreachable as well.”

“When were you going to tell us that he put you as his next of kin?” Luke intervenes, and Alex realizes this is how it’s going to develop, whatever they have going on – they’re taking turns to beat him with doubt and words and a pain so piercing that Alex can feel his insides knifed at the mere sound of syllabes carrying between them. “It’s so unlike him.”

“He suffered from a brain ischemia around six months ago,” he explains, finding his voice again and trying to infuse it with a strength he doesn’t feel. “The doctors say he’s not going to wake up.”

“With the outage and the speed at which the power is dying out, there’s no chance of him making it through,” Robert states, eyes leaving Alex with a disgusted grimace. “You’ve set your father up to die. I hope you can live with that knowledge, Alexander.”

“I can live with the fact that he’s not in this world anymore,” he suddenly bites back, blinking the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. “I can live with the fact that no one else is going to suffer what I went through.”

“Ungrateful son of a bitch,” Luke spits. He is trembling with rage, but he doesn’t budge. “He gave you everything, and you can’t be bothered to seek a different medical opinion to try and save his life.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about what he gave me,” Alex finally stands straighter, but his grip on the crutch isn’t any lighter. “You were there and chose to look away. You _chose_ him over what was right. This ends _now_.”

“It may, today,” Robert retorts while Luke finally looks from the figure on the bed to Alex. “But will you be able to live with this decision, tomorrow?” 

There’s a glitch in the machines, the sounds faltering for a while until it begins to fade. The beeping stops altogether, an alarm blaring off, deafening them. A fraction of a second later there are doctors rushing in, ushering them out and trying to save their patient, to no avail. They keep pushing buttons, RCPing the body on the bed and all the while, Alex doesn’t say a thing. He knows his father’s dying, and there’s nothing anyone can do to save him, so he allows his brothers that last thread of hope until Kyle enters the room with his white lab coat and a dismissive attitude.

Kyle declares Jesse Manes dead at seventeen twenty-one on a Monday. But although the monster’s gone, Alex knows his nightmares won’t disappear overnight, if ever. His brothers leave the hospital without so much as sparing a glance at him, and he knows he’s lost much more than a father today – he’s lost the only sense of blood family he’s ever had.

Against his will, a lonely tear finally finds its path down his cheek. Shaking his head, he does nothing to wipe it away, allowing it to drop down his neck leaving a salty trail of guilt in its wake.

Afterwards, he holes back up in the basement, not ready to face the world again for a long time. This time he forgets to order food every other week, and neglects shaving and showering on a daily basis. He doesn’t feel strong enough to climb up the ladder to the cabin, so he remains in the basement, surrounded by beeping machines and darkness whenever he averts his eyes from the glowing screens. He refuses to talk to anyone for days, and Kyle stops trying to make him speak after Alex almost chews his head off one day he attempts light chitchat. The visits start becoming scarce, although Kyle keeps taking care of him – bringing him frozen meals and all but forcing him to eat them whenever he comes around. Days blend into weeks that blend into months, and one day it isn’t Kyle who steps into his cabin and thunders through his life.

It’s Liz, powerful and determined, red lipstick as armor and worried scowl as defence.

“I know you’re down there,” she calls out, stomping her way through the dormer and jumping into the basement. Alex doesn’t budge from his chair in front of his computer, slim fingers slightly trembling over the keyboard. “Geez, Alex, you look like shit.”

He doesn’t budge. Maybe if he doesn’t acknowledge her presence, she’ll go away. But this Liz isn’t like the one he’s been hallucinating about for the longest time in his self-imposed isolation. She’s fierce and stubborn, just like he was.

“How long has it been since you last shaved?” she asks, hands battling his fingers away from the keyboard he wasn’t using anyway. “How long since you last ate something? Why are you doing this to yourself, Alex?”

He doesn’t reply, because even if she feels real he knows no one is ever going to come back for him, not after everything he’s done. He simply shrugs.

“This calls for backup,” she mutters under her breath, nails scraping his skin as she looks for any signs in him, touching his arms and his face with a loving and fleeting caress. “It’s way worse than Kyle told us about. I’m gonna _kill_ him once you’re doing better, Alex. He should have come to us for help sooner. _You_ should have known better than to hide in here without any support.”

He wants to tell her he’s fine the way he is, but there is no voice escaping his parched lips. Alex can’t peel his gaze from the screen for fear of stumbling over himself and falling to the filthy ground. He can hear the distinct _beep_ of fingers pressing buttons on a touch screen, and the piercing dialling sound that gets drowned out by her voice when the call is picked up at the other end. “I need you to come here _now_. No, no backing out of this. Oh, no, _you_ hear me out, mister. This is your fuck up as much as mine, ¿me estás oyendo? Come here _right now_. You know _where_." She levels herself, a hand reaching out to grasp his chin and turn his face until she’s making eye contact with him, and Alex can see worry laced with a love so pure that it threatens to burst into his heart and consume him. “You’ll be alright, Alex,” she whispers. “I promise you, you’re not alone anymore.”

He doesn’t find the strength in himself to tell her he’s doing fine without any help, that he likes being alone. The lie feels heavy on the tip of his tongue, burning a hole through his soul as he stares at her blankly. She kneels by his side and grabs his hand, all the while without looking away, and waits with him until the dormer cracks open with a whirring sound, footsteps on the ladder announcing the visitor Liz has coaxed into coming. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex can see the cowboy boots, the tight jeans and the white overworn t-shirt. The black cowboy hat. The swagger.

The weary look in those impossibly deep eyes.

Michael Guerin looks taken aback, his usual snarl overridden by worry and a painful grimace.

“Fuck, Alex,” it’s all he says before striding towards them. Michael’s fingers on his skin is the last thing Alex feels before stumbling down into a welcoming darkness, exhaustion and fear and dread taking the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _¿me estás oyendo?_ ~ **do you hear me?**


End file.
